Cloths of Heaven
by BeneathaMoonlessNight
Summary: The High School AU that nobody asked for. In their final year at Sunnydale, Buffy and Spike find that they have more in common than they previously thought. Will be a slow-burn. Some bad language.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: Okay I've been playing around with this idea for awhile, and I want to know what people think! So, this is a High School Au, and will hopefully be around for the long haul. I'm in my final year of school, so updating may be wishy-washy, but I'm hoping to update every weekend. Please leave a review if you enjoyed! Also, I'm looking for a Beta reader, so if you're interested, please drop me a line!**_

* * *

 _Were you but lying cold and dead,_  
 _And lights were paling out of the West,_  
 _You would come hither, and bend your head,_  
 _And I would lay my head on your breast;_  
 _And you would murmur tender words,_  
 _Forgiving me, because you were dead:_  
 _Nor would you rise and hasten away,_  
 _Though you have the will of the wild birds,_  
 _But know your hair was bound and wound_  
 _Above the stars and moon and sun:_  
 _O would, beloved, that you lay_  
 _Under the dock-leaves in the ground,_  
 _While lights were paling one by one._  
 _~ "He wishes his beloved were dead",_ W.B Yeats.

* * *

Somehow, this was Dru's fault. Spike always knew it would be her fault when they inevitably crashed and burned. He never would have let her go of his own accord. She knew that too.  
Why her leaving him had lead to sitting outside Snyder's office he had no bloody idea, but somehow it was the bitch's fault.  
Somehow.

Of course he had no problem missing the last of chem, all those pathetic excuses for words and terms, and the maths added to the party. When, in god's name, was he going to be a scientist? Dru used to sit beside him, and keep him entertained by graphically describing how she'd rip the teacher apart with his own apparatus.

 _"Think of how lovely and sticky it would be my darling Spike. Then we'd eat him for tea... Sticky and tasty like cream and jam..."_

Yeah okay, he wasn't into the cannibalistic imagery, but still. The sentiment was appreciated.

Finally, after what seemed like an age of sitting in the sweltering hall outside the principal's office, Snyder pushed the door open, allowing a tiny slip of a girl through. Or at least he thought it was just a girl until he saw the look of pure unadulterated hatred steaming on the bit's face. Ugh. Slayer.

Their eyes met for a moment, and her fierce expression only intensified, as if she was waiting for a reaction. Spike cocked an eyebrow.  
"Now, now Summers, if looks could kill..."  
"We can only hope, Pratt." She said, rolling her eyes.  
For all she looked like the _angel_ ic (hah, pun intended) Californian girl, with her irritatingly silky hair, and golden complexion, the woman made you want to turn around and walk the other way. There was about four people on this site, bugger that, on this planet, she seemed to tolerate, and he had spent the last two years carefully making sure he wasn't among them.

"Stop that." Snyder said, his eyes somehow getting smaller as he squinted at them. Summers tossed her pretty little head as she marched away, Spike watching appreciatively as she moved. Hey, he hated the bitch, but he wasn't _blind_.

" _Stop that_." Snyder wheezed, pushing him into the stuffy office, eyeing him warily, like one would a bee hive. Or a landmine.

"Sit down William." He said in a forced attempt at being civil. He looked pained as he said it. What possessed this sniveling man to become a teacher? His calling obviously lay in the noble life of a prison warden. Actually thinking on it, not much of a difference in those roles.

"Don't mind if I do." Spike said, throwing himself down on the stiff office chair, avoiding the places covered in ominous looking stains. Another look of pain flashed across Snyder's face at Spike's obvious lack of respect for the school upholstery. He coughed gruffily, and sat behind his imposing desk, that was clearly compensating for _something_.

"Mr. Pratt. It is only the second week of the semester, and we've already had a complaint of bullying from a freshman. How do you plead?"

Spike sniffed.  
"Not guilty. We were only having a bit of banter."  
"You hung the boy from the top of a door, _with the back of his coat."_

"In my defense, the coat was denim." Spike said, smiling slightly as Snyder's eyes narrowed.

The almighty principal folded his hands on top of the desk, and gave a seemingly exasperated sigh.  
"Mr. Pratt, I'm afraid the faculty and I are have reached a tipping point in regards to you. Now, since you've surprisingly lasted until senior year, I would normally just wait to celebrate at the sight of your back leaving this building at the end of May, but... The board of management has other ideas. They feel it's the responsibility of this school to offer _help_ ," Snyder shivered at the word, "to troubled students. I see it as more of an ultimatum."

Spike raised an eyebrow.  
"You mean a threat?"  
"If you like. Either you toe the line, or you'll be repeating the year at..." Snyder picked up a letter on the table, and examined it closely, "Cape Granite Institute for Problematic Boys. Doesn't that sound nice?"

Spike scoffed.  
"You don't have the power to send me to a military school. You barely have the power to make me turn up here in the mornings."  
The way Snyder was smiling made him suddenly feel that he just might have that kind of power.  
"All I need is the written recommendation of a social worker, and consent from a parent or guardian and it's bye-bye _Spike_."

At the mention of parent, Spike paled a little. It didn't go unnoticed by Snyder, who's expression turned downright evil.

"Yes, I understand your mother is in a... delicate position. I'd hate to drag her only son away from her now."

The silence in the room was poisonous. Spike knew he was trapped, and Snyder knew he had trapped him. His glee added more salt to Spike new gaping wound.  
"We expect grades of at least a C average throughout the year, and obviously no accidents like last May, do we understand each other?"

Spike didn't even have a retort. He wasn't about to waste his sparkling wit on this sadistic bastard. He lowered himself to a small nod, and stalked out of the room without waiting for Snyder's permission. _Gee, what a rebel you are William, yeah, screw the man, you slam that door!_

Fuck.

* * *

The last straw was when she dropped her lunch. After queuing up for another serving of the gruel this fine establishment had the audacity to call Mac and Cheese, she discovered they were all out and had to settle for a suspiciously stiff looking sandwich and an apple that was a sinister green-yellow.  
 _Dear God, what had she done to deserve this_? Actually don't answer that.  
She was already behind on homework after only a week of school, then Snyder demanded her glorious presence, reminding her of The May Incident, and had the nerve to threaten her with Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow _again_. As if she didn't already know that there was a private school all ready and waiting to make her good and wholesome if she screwed up again. Her mother had said it enough over the summer. Then she bumped into William "The Bloody" Pratt, and she actually _felt_ his eyes on her ass as she walked away. Why was he such a pig? A true gentleman would never check out his mortal enemy. It was only twelve o'clock.

She missed Angel.

Had it already been three months? Three months since he disappeared off to college, with only a "Bye Buffy, I love you and all but I'm going to L.A and I don't think a long distance thing would work."

Well, he made it sound more reasonable, but that's all Buffy got from his little speech. Like, she knew he had serious baggage, but still...

She shook Angel thoughts from her head, not ready to sort through that melting pot of emotions. Her heart lightened a little when she saw Willow and Xander engrossed in some sort of debate at the library table. They had been eating in the library since Sophomore year, where they discovered that this place had a zero percent chance of flying food, no animalistic screams of the other students, and actually had a lack of other students in general. Xander had proclaimed he didn't even know the school _had_ a library.

The thought of Sophomore year brought on a round of flashbacks that Buffy would have rather not had. Her father leaving. Acting out at school. The Gym Incident. Visiting Sunnydale. Moving to Sunnydale. The absolute constant fear that she would ruin everything again.

Of course after that the memories got happier. Meeting Willow and Xander. Having good, _real_ , friends for the first time. Meeting Angel. Loving Angel. The moment her mother said she was proud of her. Yeah things were good at the minute.

And then the bell rang.

Immediately Willow started gathering books, bouncing towards the door where she noticed Buffy on the verge of hitting something.  
"Buffy! What happened, why are you all... argh?" She said her voice filled with concern. Buffy held out her dismal lunch in one hand and the letter for her mother in the other.  
"I got Snydered."

Xander jumped in front of her, his expression serious.

"Buff. Do you need emergency candy?"

Buffy gave a weak laugh.

"God yes."

The walk back to class was pleasant enough, and after eating her fill of sugary goodness, Buffy was starting to feel like she could last the rest of day. Until-

"Where is your assignment Ms Summers?"

Assignment? What assignment... oh. That one. The one she was going to start yesterday...

"I um... I'll have it tomorrow?" Buffy offered lamely, ignoring the pitying glances from the other students.

"Oh yes you will, seeing as you'll be finishing it in detention." Baird said, handing her the little pink slip. Buffy nodded, sinking back into her chair, and wishing some sort of mouth in the earth would swallow her up and take her to hell. Hell would be better than here.

Anywhere would be better than here.

Two hours of torture later and she stood outside of the classroom for a while, before pushing through the door with a sigh. The small room was filled with "troubled" kids with bad dye jobs and painful looking piercings. There was a few students who, like her, had just missed homework one too many times. She looked around for an empty seat beside one of the nicer looking kids, or at least one who wouldn't try to engage her in conversation. She didn't succeed, and now was struggling to find an empty seat at all. There was only one actually, right in the back, beside...

Oh, _somebody_ must hate her up there.

Spike.

With an exasperated groan she moved to the back, and threw herself down on the chair. She shot him a look of pure loathing, unsurprised to find he was already looking at her. She inclined her head.  
"Spike." she muttered in greeting.

"Slayer." He answered in the same tone. Buffy rolled her eyes. Slayer. The stupid nickmane came the year before, from the way she supposedly "slayed" those who annoyed her. Okay, so maybe some of her insults _were_ a little cutting, but it wasn't like she went around with a pointy stake, and put it through people's hearts. Woah, there was an image.

She shook herself out of the daydream to find that Spike was looking her expectantly.  
"I'm sorry, did you say something?"

Spike laughed.  
"I asked what you were in here for." He repeated, reaching into his pocket and taking out a packet of cigarettes. He offered her one, shrugging when she looked at him aghast.  
"You are _not_ lighting up in here."  
He raised an eyebrow, in a "What the hell are you going to do about it?" way, but put the carton away. Buffy rewarded him with an answer.  
"I turned up to class homework-less. What are you doing here?" She said quickly, surprised at herself. Did she actually just initiate a conversation? Spike looked at her with suspicion, then drew out his own detention slip, reading from it as if he couldn't remember why exactly he was here.  
"Ah, here we are - _William made suggestive and lewd comments to the substitute teacher, and then refused to apologize_."

Buffy gave a small nod, still confused.  
"I meant why are you _here._ You never struck me as a guy who'd actually show up for detention."

Spike nodded, like she had a point.  
"One would think that of course, normally I wouldn't, but in fact I feel terribly bad about what I did, and want to atone for my sins."

His eye twitched. Buffy laughed in realization.

"Oh my God, Snyder got to you too didn't he?"

"Too?," Spike said curiously, raising a scarred eyebrow, "Is the lovely Ms Summers going to be joining me at Cape Granite?"  
"Not freaking likely- girl here remember? Nope. I'm headed to Our Lady of Purple Sorrow or something."

Spike snorted.  
"It's _perpetual_ sorrow, pet, not purple. 'Means eternal."

Buffy muttered a quiet 'whatever'.  
There was silence for a moment, until Spike looked at her slyly.  
"I'd have thought you'd be happy to switch schools- That school's in Los Angeles right?"

Buffy's eyes narrowed.  
"Don't. Just don't."  
Spike raised his hands in mock defense.  
"Touched a nerve did I? How is Peaches?"

"I _said..._ Just don't."

Finally the supervising teacher entered, immediately throwing them dirty looks for talking. Quietly fuming, Buffy picked up her pen and began writing, struggling not to reach over and stab Spike. Release some of that frustration that had been building all day.  
God, but she hated that man.

* * *

 _Band isn't half bad tonight,_ Spike thought as he watched his target leave The Bronze. It _would_ be the night that actual music was being played that he's have to leave early. Worst Luck. He followed the girl and her friends out from the bar, keeping a careful distance away, not wanting to alert them. Shadows were just one of the many benefits of wearing nothing but black- it was easy to hide. His duster swept behind him as he walked, slapping against the back of his calves every now and again. He always liked the duster. Made him look a little taller. He needed that extra height when he was beside Angeles, being compared to Angeles. Bastard.

Finally the group in front of him came to a stop, hugs being exchanged, and the other two turned a corner, leaving Red all alone. Perfect.

He came up behind her, and grabbed her shoulder, swinging her around to face him. She let out a startled shriek, that he muffled with his hand.  
"I need a favour." He said quietly, releasing her a little before she bit him.

"What the _hell_ Spike!," Willow said angrily straightening out her fluffy pink jumper, "w-why did you sneak up on me like that?"  
"Couldn't let the other Scoobies know I was sinking this low could I? Slayer'd have a field day!  
Look I need help. I need to bring up my grade to at least a C minus, and I have no idea how- I haven't paid attention in school since England!"

Willow looked at his suspiciously.  
"W-why did you think I'd help you?" She muttered, only half-sure of herself.  
"'Cause I saved your asses last May didn't I? You and all the Scoobies. And I haven't asked for a bit of payment. You _owe_ me."

He waited for a moment, while she decided between a retort or an answer.

"So, you want me to... tutor you?"  
Spike shuddered.  
"Do you have to use that word?"

Red simply stared at him, until he broke.  
"Yes, fine, what of it?"

The girl broke out laughing, doubled over. Spike waited until she stopped. She straightened herself, wiping away a few escaped tears.  
"Fine," she answered in between giggles, "You can meet me in the library every Tuesday and Thursday."

Spike nodded, gave her a painful looking smile, and started to back away, until he froze at her last words.

"That way I can tutor you and Buffy at the same time."


	2. Chapter 2

_I want to beat you to death with a blunt object_  
 _I want to get one of those high end fashion mannequins grab them by the ankles and bash your ribcage in_  
 _I want to sharpen 5 pencils, bind them with a rubber band, put them in your mouth and punch the erasers_  
 _I want to strap you to a bead of nails then strap that bed of nails to the hood of my car so I can watch you suffer as we drive over speed bumps on a mall parking lot during an earthquake_  
 _I want you to somehow survive a terrible car crash and somehow not survive a small fender bender on the way back from the hospital.  
 **Dad~ Bo Burnham**  
_

* * *

Sun. Bright. Too bright... what- noise? Ring, ring, ring... oh right. Alarm. Buffy woke slowly, wiping sleep from her eyes, as her free hand hit the objects on her locker blindly till it found its target. Tuesday. Tuesdays were bad. The weekend was well and truly gone, but Friday was still a barely-there light in the distance. Buffy often thought that it was Tuesday, not Monday, that was the worst day of the week.  
She hopped into the shower, going over her schedule for the day. Survive till lunch. Survive some more. Study with Willow. Fun, fun, fun! She pulled on her outfit of choice, and trudged down stairs to the kitchen.

"'Morning." She muttered darkly to her mother as she began to pour the first cereal she came into contact with. Joyce raised an eyebrow in amusement.  
"Good morning, Buffy."  
After the necessary niceties were exchanged they went back to their respective reading of newspaper and fighting the urge to fall asleep into Bran. Once the coffee began to kick in, Joyce braved the abyss that was conversation with her eldest daughter.

"Anything special today?"  
Buffy panicked for a moment, struggling to remember if there was a birthday, anniversary or likewise event she could be punished for forgetting.  
"...no?" she asked nervously, trying to judge from her mother's expression if she should run.  
"Oh. I was just wondering." Joyce answered, taking another sip of her latte.  
Buffy breathed a sigh of relief. They fell into silence again, until they were greeted by a bleary eyed Dawn.

"Hey!" Buffy greeted cheerfully and was thrown a death glare in response. She met her mother's eye across the table, and shrugged, reflecting her mother's bemused smile. Suddenly, there was a loud honk from outside.  
"It even sounds cheap." Joyce muttered worriedly. Buffy laughed.  
"Don't tell Xander that, you'll break his heart." She answered, swinging her bag onto her left shoulder.

"Bye, I'll see you later- Oh! Might be late, studying with Willow. Bye Dawn!"  
"What?" Dawn answered, blinking suddenly, like she was half asleep again. Buffy decided that was the extent of sisterly affection she could expect for the morning and skipped out the door into the early sunshine.

"What can compare with a Californian fall?" she sang, as she jumped into Xander's old Ford.  
"You're chipper." Xander observed, eyeing her suspiciously.  
"Today's going to be a good day." Buffy decided, as she relaxed into the musty seat.

* * *

Today was not a good day.  
Actually it _had_ been, up until lunch, when Buffy was finally able to catch up with Willow. Her best fried was, of course, in all advanced-placement classes, leaving poor Buffy and Xander to fend for themselves most of the time. Buffy dumped herself opposite Willow and Oz, who seemed caught in their own little world until Buffy coughed loudly. Willow did her usual blush-y thing, while Oz gave her a nonchalant "hey".

"Whatcha doin'?" Buffy asked, simultaneously trying to read Willow's writing upside down.  
"Oh, I was just deciding what we'd go over later. See, I thought we'd start with Chem, 'cause that's what you both missed yesterday, because of Snyder." she said eagerly, though she had the good grace to look sympathetic at the hell-demon's name.

"Cool. What time do you- we both? Who 'both'?" She asked, almost missing the implied second person. Willow did the wide-eyed look she always had while she was grasping for words.  
"Um, yeah, I'm tutoring somebody else at the same time, y-you don't mind, right?" Willow answered, but there was something in her oh-so-innocent expression that made Buffy feel she was dancing around something. Or rather, _someone._

 _"_ I don't mind. It's just, you said 'you both', but the only other person at Snyder's was... _no!_ World of no!" Buffy gasped in horror, the realization of _who_ giving her an instant headache.  
" _Spike_?! Willow what were you... why? How?!" Buffy half shrieked, half hissed.  
" _Hey._ " Oz warned, instantly becoming protective as Willow floundered.

"He came to me!," Willow rushed, "He's in the same boat as you, has to get a C minus and all, and after, you know, _May..._ " She finished, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. The table fell silent.  
"He _did_ kind of save our asses." Oz reminded carefully.  
"'Was his fault our asses needed saving." Xander muttered, poking moodily at his lasagna.  
"Well technically it was-" Anya began, but the trio stared her into silence.

Willow shifted uncomfortably in her seat, watching Buffy with pleading eyes.  
"Fine!," Buffy groaned, as Willow gave a little victory dance, happy at the avoided confrontation, "But I don't have to be, ew, _nice_ to him do I?"  
Willow's eyes grew wide.  
"I hadn't thought of that. It shouldn't matter, _I'm_ going to be mean."

"Willow, you're not capable of meanness." Buffy reminded while the gang nodded in agreement. Willow gave a little shrug.  
"True- but I'll be really unhelpful, I won't even make him a study-chart." She said, her eyes narrowing in determination.  
"Yeah Will, that'll show him!", Xander said giving a sarcastic thumbs-up, before turning back to the gang in general, "So, who's up for smuggling Buffy in a gun?"

* * *

 _"Time goes fast when you're having fun",_ they say. What is less often said is that time also goes fast when you're dreading something with all your heart and soul. Nothing could have made a double period of Trig and an hour of French go faster than the prospect of an afternoon with freaking William Pratt. So, when the time came for Buffy to actually enter the library, she kind of... froze.

She couldn't survive this.

Wait, yes she could. She survived that extra-wiggy-almost-normal conversation with him yesterday right? And a whole Summer of awkward meetings at the mall, or the Bronze. All she had to do now was endure an hour of listening to Willow while being in close proximity to his stupid, pasty face.

And on that note, Buffy pushed open the doors. Inside, Willow was sitting nervously, her hands folded protectively over her books her book, shooting apprehensive glances at Spike.

The man of the hour was sprawled over one of the benches, and Buffy would have thought he was sleeping if it weren't for his twitching hand. She assumed he was itching for a smoke, the two hours in between lunch and now being too long a gap. Great, she had a frustrated _and_ nicotine deprived Spike to deal with.

Wasn't life just great like that?

With life loving her the way it did, Spike, of course, noticed her first.  
"Great we can start, the Slayer's graced us with her divine presence at last. Red, start with the teaching!"  
Willow jumped and gave Buffy a jumpy little wave. They all started when the doors swung open again, the school librarian, and probably Buffy's favorite member of staff, Giles walked through, juggling a heavy looking stack of books and a mug of tea.

"Hello Buffy, Willow, Xan- You're not Xander." He stated more than questioned, eyeing Spikes boots, that were currently resting on the table, with suspicion.  
"William Pratt. To what do I-", he stopped with a sigh. "Why are you here Spike?" He asked, almost accusingly, dumping the pile of books on his desk.

"'M being a good citizen. Contributing to society, becoming somebody. The American Dream and all that tosh." Spike said with mock eagerness, swinging his feet off the table, narrowly missing Willow's bottle of water. Giles' expression blackened further.

"Indeed. Buffy, if blood is spilled I expect you to clean it out of the carpet." He said, as he walked into his office, shutting the door behind him pointedly.

"Will do!", Buffy answered as she swung into the space closest to Willow while being furthest away from Spike. Her efforts didn't go unnoticed by him and he rolled his eyes dramatically.  
"Why don't you get some maturity Summers?" He said, his voice coming out like a snarl. Buffy smiled sweetly.  
"I did, but it ran away with your dignity. What the hell are you doing here?"

Spike gestured to the books, as if it was obvious.  
"I'm here to _learn_ Slayer, an' you're preventing' it," He pointed to one of the anti-bullying signs on the wall, " _Deliberate_ _prevention of education is a form of bullying,_ did you know that Summers? You're a bully. Ought to report you, I should."

Buffy narrowed her eyes, but a pleading look from Willow stopped the insult that was dancing on her tongue. She settled into her seat and Willow opened her book, quickly turning into Teacher-Willow.  
"Okay what you missed yesterday is really simple..."

* * *

"...and then you double check that both sides of the equation are equal and you're done!"  
Willow looked up, her happy smile faltering when she saw Buffy and Spike's identical blank expressions.  
"Oh come on guys, really?" She said, un-Willow like exasperation filling her voice.

"'M sorry Red, I was right there with you, up until the... equation part." Spike muttered, reading over his scrawled rough work.  
Willow's expression darkened.  
"All of it was the equation part."

"It's okay Willow really, it's just I think I speak for me and, uh, Spike, when I say _huh?_ "  
Spike nodded.  
"For once I agree with the Slayer-"  
"Not my name." Buffy interrupted. Spike ignored her.  
" _huh_ is a perfectly good description of my thoughts here. If you could just explain this CO2 malarkey again-"

" _Carbon Dioxide._ Even I knew that Pratt." Buffy hissed, though proud that she remembered that at least.  
"I _know_ Slayer, could you please take your head out of your ass for a moment?" Spike said, snarling again.  
"But how else would I see your face every day?" Buffy said innocently, starting slightly when Spike jumped out of his chair.

"That's it Slayer, you, me, right now. Show me some of those nancy-boy yoga moves Peaches taught you." Spike said, bouncing on his feet, his hands balled into fists. Willow backed away into the corner.

What Buffy lacked in the brains department, she made up for in martial arts, a fact that quickly spread around Sunnydale, and Buffy often wondered if that was why she had so much trouble with boys. She was dangerously good, and it was another contributor to the nickname _Slayer._

"It was _tai chi_ " Buffy said threateningly as she stood up slowly from the table. Spike was still hopping around, a strange intensity in his eyes.  
"Give me a reason Spike, I'm dying for a good fight."  
She threw a mock punch, intending to miss. To give him credit, Spike didn't flinch.  
 _He's been hit before,_ Buffy thought absentmindedly. There were so many wannabe punks going around, pretending to be old tortured souls. She had assumed Spike wasn't any different. Did it make a difference to her, that he might have some shady past? _No,_ she quickly decided, swinging back into fighting stance.

"Try again Slayer, you know you want to." Spike practically purred, moving so close to her that Buffy considered simply kneeing him in the balls. Instead she pulled back her fist again, letting it fly.  
His reflexes were too quick, and he grabbed her fist, twisting her arm painfully. He laughed at her grunt of pain, and Buffy threw him a look of loathing. A wide grin was spread across his too-pale face, and his eyes were dilated almost fully- wait was he _getting off on this?_

She was about to give in to that kneeing-in-the-balls idea when-

"Summers! Pratt! What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" Snyder virtually screamed, materializing out of no where. They leaped apart, Spike fixing his jacket, and Buffy smoothing back her ponytail.  
"We were just-" Buffy began, struggling to find an answer.  
"Dancing." Spike finished, that wicked look beginning to reappear on his face again. Snyder's eyes narrowed.

"Dancing?" He repeated, and Buffy swore she could actually _see_ his hair line receding even further.  
"Yeah, "She answered, "Homecoming's coming up and Willow was just teaching us the, um, waltz?" She finished weakly. She could feel Spike rolling his eyes.

"Rosenberg! Were they dancing?" Snyder shouted, noticing Willow for the first time.  
Willow made a squeaking noise and nodded her head. Snyder turned back to them suspiciously.

"I don't believe you. But you can both _dance_ together at counselling tomorrow morning. No questions!" He added when Buffy and Spike began to protest.  
"You two will work out... whatever this is. There will not be another _blip_ on your files, or I swear you'll both be singing bible songs this time next year. Go straight to my office in the morning, and then into counselling. _Together."_  
He gave them a final sneer, before spinning on his heel and marching out the door. Spike knocked his books into his bag, and snatched his duster of the table.  
"Looks like we've got a date Summers," He said, casually walking backwards out of the library, "wear something pretty."

He almost dodged the book Buffy threw at him. Almost.

* * *

 **A/N: Hi again! So, here's chapter 2. Big thanks to everyone who followed or reviewed. I'm sure you all know by now that reviews are any author's life blood, so keep 'em coming. Feel free to ask questions, or give me theories! See you all next week!**


	3. Chapter 3

_A subtle change_  
 _That I never understood_  
 _Came about_  
 _The closer we became_  
 _The more anger_  
 _And resentment followed_  
 _When she smiled_  
 _I was envious_  
 _When I laughed she was angry_  
 _We broke up_  
 _We were young_  
 _It was my fault_  
 _Her fault_  
 _Our fault_  
 _Or blame it on the times we lived in  
 **When Yesterday Was Today~ Edmund Siejka**  
_

* * *

Chapter 3

Snyder seemed to enjoy silence. He relished in it. Buffy decided it was because it made most people uncomfortable, in the same way Snyder himself did. Despite how much she wanted to, she didn't disrupt the eerie quiet that swamped her.

Spike was late.

Was she surprised? Not in the least. Did it still annoy her? God, yes. A little part of her had hoped that if they both behaved during this meeting, Snyder would reveal that he was just bluffing over the counselling session and that they could both go about their day as normal. But now, with Spike nearly fifteen minutes late, she knew it was a lost cause. With a barely stifled sigh, she relaxed back into the crinkly leather chair, and resigned herself to watching the clock ticking.

After exactly two-hundred and forty-seven ticks, she caught a whiff of cigarette smoke, then heard the ugly clomping of heavy boots. Snyder shook himself a bit, and Buffy sat up in her chair. Spike entered the room in the same way he did everything- loudly.

He shoved open the door and let it swing closed behind him. He sniffed and dumped himself in the seat beside Buffy, and the chair swung a little with the force he put into it. He inclined his head towards her in greeting before turning back to Snyder who was looking at him in expectation. They stared at each other for a moment- Spike in confusion, Snyder in revulsion, until the former realized what was wrong.

" Oh, right, sorry- m' car wouldn't start, had to walk."

If Snyder accepted that or not, Buffy didn't know. His look of loathing didn't leave either way. He simply stood and beckoned for them to follow.

She tuned out the usual comments and threats Snyder issued as he marched them towards the counselor's office- his usual speech about how they were worthless and unworthy of the air they breathed was getting old. What frustrated her the most was that, in Snyder's eyes, she was the same as Spike.  
Trouble. A problem that needed to be dealt with.

They weren't the same- Spike actively looked for chaos, he _worshiped_ it. It was probably why he was with Drusilla for three years.

In Buffy's case, chaos just seemed to worship _her._

Finally they stopped outside a shabby looking door. "Guidance counselling" was written across the round window in chipped print. Buffy met Spike's eye, and he winced comically. Well. At least he wasn't looking forward to this anymore than she was.

"You'll talk in here until the bell rings. If I don't get a satisfactory report, you're in here again, same time next week." Snyder said, spinning on his heel. Buffy and Spike watched him leave until he disappeared around the corner. They stood in uncomfortable silence.

"Wanna ditch?" Spike said hopefully, already bouncing where he stood. It was like he was constantly buzzed or something.

"And get detention for the rest of the week? No thank you."

He didn't look surprised.

"Well then," he said, pushing open the door, "After you Slayer."

* * *

"Ah- Ms Summers and Mr Pratt. Please, please take a seat."  
Spike groaned. The counselor had the wide-eyed, eager look of a young teacher who still believed they could "make a difference." Give it a year, and the students of Sunnyhell would knock that enthusiasm right out. He shot glance at Summers and, in fairness to the Slayer, she looked almost as annoyed as he felt.

"Now, I know you probably don't want to be here." Ms Wilson said with a condescending smile.  
Spike rolled his eyes, reaching for the glass of water beside him.  
"But I really think I can help you work through this... resentment. Now, Principal Snyder said there's always been this animosity between you, and that he fears it will... come to a head on the school grounds. _I_ want to know what you think is the root of this, and then maybe I can help you work through it. Any ideas?"

 _He nearly got me killed,_ Buffy thought, glaring at the ugly pattern on the green carpet.

 _She took my best mate away,_ Spike hissed in his mind, taking a swig from the glass.

Wilson took their radio silence in her stride.

"Some would think that there would be a... natural sympathy between you. Maybe I'm wrong, but you're both outsiders in this school- Buffy you only arrived two years ago, and Spike you're from an entire different continent. One would think you'd... band together."

Buffy and Spike made identical _pff_ noises. Wilson didn't seem to notice.

"Maybe you did at the start- is that what started this? A bad breakup?"

Spike choked on his water. Buffy burst out laughing, hysterical at the very thought. The laugh lasted a little bit too long and ended up sounding a little bit too forced. It faded away into an awkward cough.

"No," Buffy said shaking her head wildly, "No, no, me and Spike? No, nope, never. No."

Spike turned to her, his expression more incredulous than hurt.  
"Five 'no's Slayer? _Really?_ Y'know, you're coming on a little strong there."

Summers simply glared at him.

Wilson jotted down a few notes onto her pad, and looked back at them in interest.  
"Okay, so a lot of _hostility_ here, huh? Now can either of you give me _one_ good reason for it. Just say it, we're all free to say what we feel in this room."

Summers sighed, leaning forward.  
"Well... I guess it's because he smells like a crack-house. "

Two could play at that game.  
"It's that dozy look she always has _._ Distracting is what it is." He said shuddering.

"He has the most _disgustingly_ filthy mind, I've ever had the misfortune to come across"

"She always acts all 'holier-than-thou', as if she's not in the exact same place as me."

"He blames the world for the issues, even though he literally brings it on himself."

"She's such a raging bitch, that she couldn't even keep a bloke as masochistic as Angel."

Buffy froze, and the blood rushed to her face so fast that Spike felt he had _maybe_ gone too far. Maybe.

"Take. That. Back." She hissed, gripping the wooden armrests so tightly that her knuckled were stark white. Spike gulped.

"Make. Me." He snarled, leaning forward and pushing into her personal space, in that way he knew she hated.

Wilson gave a small cough, and they both suddenly remembered that there was a third person in the room. Her head had been flying back and forth between them during their 'discussion' and she had been writing down notes so fast that Spike was surprised her pen wasn't smoking.

"Okay so it seems we've found some mutual ground here- Who's Angel?"

"My ex..." Buffy muttered staring at the ground again.

"And what happened?"

"He left." Buffy answered the same time as Spike said "he changed."

Wilson nodded thoughtfully.  
"So you were both close to this guy. Spike, when exactly did he 'change'?"

Spike was about to answer with "When he got into the Slayer's pants.", but at the last second opted for the truth.

"When he got his girlfriend killed in a car wreck."

* * *

 _ **Two years earlier...**_

 _Why the fuck was his phone ringing?_

He could barely hear the shrill sound of the landline over the roaring storm outside. Spike groaned into his pillow, rolled over and checked the number flashing. _Unknown Number_ said the screen.

 _Curiouser and curiouser_.

He yanked the phone out of its stand, and answered it roughly .

"What the actual hell do you want?"  
He was met with dead silence, except for the sound of rain hitting off something. Spike waited for a couple of seconds, but no one spoke.

"Who is this?"

The caller swallowed nervously and then spoke quietly.  
"It's me."

"Angel? What the bloody fuck man?"  
There was silence until Angel let out what, if Spike didn't know any better, he'd call a sob.

"I didn't know who else to call... everything's ruined, over, gone... She- She's dead. I think she's dead. I- I killed her. It's my fault."  
Spike shot out of the bed, the hairs on his neck prickling. _Not Dru. Please God, not Dru.  
_

"Who mate? Who's d-dead."

"Darla."

With him being the awful bastard that he was, Spike began to sigh in relief, but swallowed it quickly.  
"What happened? Where are you?" He whispered, pulling on clothes as fast as he could single-handedly.

"I don't know man, we were driving and I could barely see with the rain, and I- I lost control I guess. I went into a pole or something."

There was quiet again for a moment until Angel let out a shaky sigh.  
"Spike- Will, I was drinking."

And the penny dropped. Angel was calling him to help cover it up.

"Angel, I don't have a licence yet, I won't take the fall for you."

"I'm not asking you to, just... just can you ring her father? I'm not able- God, I can never look at him again can I? My fault, all my fault..."

Spike had never seen, or rather heard, him like this before. Angel was actually scared. Hurting. It sounded like he was... ashamed? Regretful?

Sorry?

"Look I'll call her father, but you need to ring for an ambulance or something, she mightn't be dead mate, just call 911 'kay?"  
There was silence again, then the sound of Angel pushing more coins into the slot.

"It's her neck Will... she's dead."

Angel hung up abruptly and Spike listened to the hollow beeping of the phone for a while. It seemed to match the frantic thumping of his heart.  
Darla... dead?

Finally he psyched himself up for the next phone call.

"Master? Yeah, it's Will. Listen, you'd better get down to the hospital, there's been an accident... Yeah Darla... Look, it seems pretty bad..."

* * *

That was the last time Spike heard from Angel.

He knew that whatever corrupted lawyers that his parents had would get him off everything, and they did. Angel was landed with some community service, and that was the end of that. Nice and neat. Sad, always unfortunate, but quickly forgotten, just like all the shady things that happened in this town.

He knew that Darla's father had left Sunnydale. He knew that hardly anybody turned up for the service, except for him and Drusilla. Dru took an odd sort of morbid delight in the whole thing, taking her own sweet time getting ready, carefully picking out her laciest black gown, her most extravagant jewels, curling her hair in old fashioned papers.

Angel didn't show.

After three months of radio silence, Spike had all but accepted that he must have skipped town. He'd lashed out at Dru, who refused to accept that "Daddy" had abandoned her.

 _"He'll come back to us, Ms Edith whispered to me that he will. He'll come back with all that wonderful hurt and he'll set fire to the moon and the stars and the shadows and he'll dance in the sunshine. Sweet William will dance in the sunshine too... Someday."_

Spike just wandered over to the Bronze, hoping the pounding music would distract him from the pounding in his head, when he saw him. No, _them._

He was sitting at the bar, _smiling,_ chatting up some sunny blonde who looked about the same age as Spike. She was twirling the straw in her drink around her finger, glancing up at him shyly through her eyelashes. Spike just presumed it was the same old Angel, taking an innocent for a ride, until he noticed that Angel looked just as shy as she did.

They were laughing together.

It was everything that was perverse in this universe. Spike just glared at them, until something must have alerted Angel to his presence. He glanced over at Spike, and immediately leaned down to the girl, whispering to her, and drawing his coat around her shoulders. He practically marched her out the door without so much as a second glance.

 _She_ changed him.

He did his community service, he got a job, he stopped drinking. He picked _her_ up from school most days, and he'd kiss her hello, and she'd laugh like she didn't know the things he'd done, to him, to Dru, to girls younger than pretty little Ms Summers. Like everything about him wasn't wrong, wrong, _wrong._

Angel made Spike the monster he was. He'd driven Drusilla past the point of insanity. He'd torn this town apart, and it ended with the blood of Darla dripping from his fingers.

All the things he done and he was rewarded with something that looked an awful lot like redemption.

And Spike finally learned what Angel had been trying to teach him for years.

True, pure, _burning_ hatred.

* * *

"You resent him and Buffy. You were his friend, brother even, and he turned to a complete stranger for comfort instead of you." Wilson said softly, folding her arms on the table and leaning forward. Spike's grip on the glass was becoming painful.

"It's okay to feel anger Spike, but it's not okay to take it out on other people-"

She stopped with a gasp when Spike crushed the glass, water and sharp splinters hitting the floor. Blood soon followed, staining the carpet, like ink on paper.

He stood up slowly. He felt both women staring at him, and he made the mistake of looking at Summers. There was something that looked sickeningly like pity swimming in her watery eyes.

"We're done." He growled, and he swung out through door.

The silence that filled the room was ironically deafening. Buffy was still staring at the carpet, but now with sick fascination. The glass splinters glittered like diamond shards. There was a dark green patch where the water had spilled, and there were specks of muddy brown where Spike's blood must have dripped. Buffy didn't know why, but felt like she was going to cry and be sick at the same time.

"Did you know?" Ms Wilson asked, trying and failing to keep her voice professional, "About what happened with Darla? About Angel changing?"

Buffy nodded, ripping her gaze from the sparkling chaos on the floor. The bell rang and she pulled herself up from the chair, stepping over the glass and blood.

"I just didn't know Spike cared."


	4. Chapter 4

_Did you want to see me broken?_  
 _Bowed head and lowered eyes?_  
 _Shoulders falling down like teardrops._  
 _Weakened by my soulful cries._

 _Does my haughtiness offend you?_  
 _Don't you take it awful hard_  
 _'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines_  
 _Diggin' in my own back yard._

 _You may shoot me with your words,_  
 _You may cut me with your eyes,_  
 _You may kill me with your hatefulness,_  
 _But still, like air, I'll rise.  
 **Still I rise~ Maya Angelou**  
_

The weeks passed in a cliched blur. Classes, aptitude tests and SAT preps all jumbled together in a pile of responsibility that Buffy stored in her mind under "School Crap". With so much stuff going on in school, the hormonal hurricane that was Dawn, the headaches her mother just couldn't seem to shift, and the near constant doctor appointments because of them, Buffy almost didn't have time to think about what went down with Spike. Almost.

After the disaster that was counselling, all she wanted to do was go back to blissfully thinking that Pratt was a soulless, evil, _thing,_ but these he was, every Tuesday and Thursday, listening intently to Willow and being icily civil towards Buffy. Which was fine. It wasn't like she missed the "banter". Really. In many ways, it was an improvement- albeit a weird one.

But there was this little nagging voice in the back of her head, that kept reminding her that nobody could reveal something like that, even to a stranger/ mortal enemy, without _something_ changing. And something obviously had changed, since Spike was now treating her... well, not like an acquaintance, or even a person. More like a potted plant. She was there, but she wasn't important in any way. Just a part of the library.

So Buffy returned the favor, and pretended she didn't notice the fresh bandages on his right hand.

Halloween was on them, faster than you could say "pointless commercial holiday". Some of the teachers tried to engage the students by decorating their classrooms, or giving "spooky" themed classes. Spike felt that he'd appreciate the week off better, the delightful midterm break he used to have back home.

This was one of those classes. The English teacher, Ms Miller, had thrown various pumpkins and fake cobwebs around the room, complete with rubber spiders. One of the lads in the room had pried one of the said spiders free, and was dangling it in front of a nearby cheerleader. She squealed in... fear? delight? Spike couldn't tell, and turned his attention to more pressing matters, like the back of Buffy Summers' skull.

It had been well over a month since the last session, and not so much as a "hello". It wasn't like he was expecting much by way of an confrontation, what with Snyder's threat hovering over them like a bad smell, but he was expecting a _something._ He hadn't meant to say as much as he did, just enough to make the shrink uncomfortable, enough to make Summers question her Prince Charming's morals. But then it had felt irritatingly _good_ to talk. Not that he'd ever say that to anyone. All he knew was that he'd said something to make Summers look at him differently. She could barely look at him at all.

He bloody _missed_ it. Quipping with her, throwing abuse back and forth, waiting to see what americanised insult she'd come out with next. _Dancing_ as he had so poetically put it some weeks ago, because lets face it, dancing was all they'd ever done. Dancing around the fact that things had changed between them. It wasn't as easy as _I hate you and I know the feeling's mutual_ anymore. Not since last May. Not since-

His head snapped up at the knock on the door. The British librarian, Jeeves or something, poked his head through, stepping into the room awkwardly.  
"Excuse me Ms Miller, could I borrow Buffy Summers please?" He said, handing the teacher a note with a shaking hand.

With his eyes still trained on the back of her head, Spike expected her to move in surprise. What he hadn't expected was for her to tense up, the graceful slope of her shoulders stiffening in anxiety. Spike frowned at his poetic choice of words- since when did he associate Buffy Summers with the word "graceful"?

He watched he sweep her books into her bag, swinging it up onto her shoulder in one fluid motion. Ms Miller handed her an assignment for homework and gave her a reassuring, and slightly condescending, smile. Jeeves put his hand on her shoulder and lead her out of the room, patting her back clumsily. Spike rolled his eyes and returned his attentions back to the printed poem in front of him, trying to ignore the foreboding that was settling in his stomach. With the class settled, Ms Miller began to read, and Spike mouthed the words in silence.

 _I know that I shall meet my fate  
_ _Somewhere among the clouds above;  
_ _Those that I fight I do not hate  
_ _Those I defend, I do not love..._

* * *

When she did not return to school for the rest of the week, Spike figured that Snyder had found some way to ship her off the Our Lady's. He tried to carefully word the questions he asked Red, making sure he didn't sound to interested. Because he wasn't. Scout's honour.

 _"Summers has done a runner then, has she?"  
_ " _The Slayer can't deal with my glorious presence then?"  
"Too busy terrorizing small children an' spitting on grannies, to go to school, yeah?"_

Red's lips pressed closer together every time until they almost disappeared completely, and the librarian (who's name was Giles as it turned out) looked up from his books and gave him a sharp "That's quite enough, Spike."  
Maybe it was Giles' stormy glare, or Willow's pleading eyes, but Spike shut his mouth, and went back to pretending that he didn't care whether Summers lived or died.

That tactic was working fine until Friday.

Friday's were a tricky old day. He spent his Friday afternoons hanging around until he was sure the rest of the student body had vacated the lot. And then he'd turn back into the school.

It was his own fault really. Shakespeare and poetry and all that nonsense had always just made _sense_ to him. It was like it was a language that he just happened to be fluent in, without trying. He'd even dabbled in writing some stuff himself during his misspent youth, with disastrous results. No one was ever meant to _find out.  
_ What he'd forgotten is that teachers tend to read homework. He hadn't handed anything up in so long, that he overlooked the fact that some teachers may be impressed with the ability he'd kept squashed for so long.

Ms Miller was the first. All it took was two short essays and she was keeping him back after class. After several meetings, she told him that she'd forget about last year if he did some work in his own time for extra credit. To his everlasting embarrassment he accepted, and now he spent the better part of Friday evenings discussing symbolism, and metaphors and what not.

And here he was now trudging down the school steps, lighting a cigarette as he went. The amber glow from his lighter suddenly illuminated a figure that he would have tripped over otherwise.

"Hey!" He proclaimed, dodging the body at the last second. She, because it was girl, looked up at him, and seemed unsurprised.  
"Of course it's you. It's always you." She answered, turning back around, and resting her head on her curled up knees.

"Summers? What the bloody hell are you doing here?" He asked, more curious than anything. Absent from school, from his everyday life, for almost a week, and here she returned, cryptic and mysterious, barely visible in the November twilight.

She shrugged.  
"Giles was supposed to bring me home... I think I forgot to tell him." She whispered, staring intently at nothing in particular. Spike was only half-sure she was answering him.

"An' you decided that... sitting here was your best bet? Not your finest moment I'll admit." He said, throwing himself down beside her. She barely registered him, though the corner of her mouth quirked upwards.

"It's nice here. It's quiet... normal. Free. Well more free than the hospital at least..." She added softly, arching her neck to watch the last bit of daylight fade away. Spike swallowed, suddenly wondering how he ever thought of her as anything _but_ graceful, perfectly poised on the cold stone of the steps. _How statue-like I see thee stand..._ He almost shuddered with the force of the thought. He always knew the Slayer was... well, _hot_ , but calling her graceful bordered on something completely different from simple admiration.

"You sick?" He mumbled out, desperately trying to fill the silence that was just a little bit too comfortable. She hesitated for so long that he thought she simply didn't hear him. She sighed, inhaling in the smoky air.

"A shadow. That's what they said... what they called it. A shadow. This little blurry patch on her x-ray is what's causing the headaches, the tiredness, the... outbursts. All the badness because of a little shadow. Figures- I was afraid of the dark when I was a kid."

He knew that the shadow wasn't a metaphor- God knows he'd spent enough time in hospitals to know the medical connotations.

"Who pet? Who has a shadow?" He asked, and they were both surprised by how soft he sounded. Her lower lip trembled.  
"My mom." She whispered, knowing that her voice would break if she said it any louder. Couldn't let _him_ see how weak she was feeling. How helpless.

Spike nodded slowly, taking a long drag from the cigarette. He threw it in front of him, and they both watched it soar momentarily in the low light, then land in a shower of orange sparks and ashes. He stretched his boot forward and crushed it.  
"M' sorry. Your mum's nice... a real lady."

Buffy stared at him, incredulous.  
"When did _you_ meet my mom?" She asked. Spike gave her a pointed look, raising an eyebrow. She turned a soft pink, mumbling a small "Oh right." Another moment of silence seeped through the air, and Spike's fingers twitched towards his pack of smokes, just for something to do.

"I never thanked you, did I?... For last May." She asked unexpectedly, and he dropped the carton in surprise. She coloured again, as he picked them up, looking at her suspiciously.

"Well, you were too busy _blaimin'_ me weren't you?" He said, though his voice lacked the venom he normally would have included. This was just... teasing. She gave a short laugh, nodding in agreement, tapping her fingers against the tops of her thighs. He absentmindedly offered her a smoke and she just rolled her eyes. At least somethings hadn't changed.

"Well... thanks I guess. For the life save-age and stuff." She murmured, twisting in discomfort.  
"Didn't do it for you." Spike answered, too fast, dropping his gaze from her hazel eyes. Something like surprise and hurt flashed across her face but she quickly replaced it with her usual vapid mask of indifference.

"I know." She muttered. They sat in silence for a only a couple of seconds before she pushed herself up off the ground. She stretched a little, and began meandering down the remaining steps. She paused once she reached the bottom, turning back to face him, barely visible in the waning light.

"Look, I know you hate me and all, and we'll get right back to that on Monday, but... this helped. I owe you one."  
And with that she disappeared behind the carefully trimmed bushes.

Spike sighed, turning sideways, and lying back against the cold stone of the floor. He took a long drag from the newly lighted cigarette, and watched the smoke swirl into the cool air. He didn't know why, but the tight ball of anxiety finally loosened, and he felt like he could breathe properly again. He didn't want to dwell on what that meant for longer than he had to.

"I don't hate you." He admitted, with no one there to hear him.

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry it's been so long! I've just been really busy! Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and leave a review if you did!**


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